Respite
by Nesta
Summary: A happy moment for Faramir and Éowyn to make up for all the angsty ones.


**RESPITE**

_The Professor puts Faramir and Eowyn through a good deal of angst, so I thought they deserved this respite. The location is Lossarnach and the time is about the same as that of 'Steward's Men' – about a year into their marriage._

The warmth had not yet gone from the autumn sun, but the light was lengthening: clear, liquid light like golden wine poured over the valley. He lay and watched Eowyn combing her hair, half-closing his eyes so that all became a confused glimmer of green and gold. Presently he reached out a hand and took a lock of her hair, drawing it though his fingers, admiring its gleam.

'Your hair is far too beautiful to braid it as you do. You should leave it loose.'

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. 'That would be most improper. Indeed, as a married woman I should wear my head covered at all times.'

'Is that the custom of Rohan?'

'Indeed it is.'

'Then,' he said determinedly, giving the hair a little tug, 'with all due respect to your valiant countrymen, I would say that they are scandalous wasters of beauty, and by your leave we shall not import that custom into Ithilien.'

'As you wish,' she said, continuing to braid. 'I see that I still have much to learn!'

'In beauty you have nothing to learn, save to let well alone.' He grinned up at her, awaiting her next move.

She took it. 'Now sit up!' she commanded.

'But why?'

'So that I can comb the leaves out of your hair, foolish man. Otherwise anyone who sees us will know what we have been doing.'

'In the first place, there's none here to see us. And in the second place –' the grin became positively malicious – 'what would any sane man be doing, at such a time and in such a place, and newly married to such a woman?'

She blushed hotly. 'Have you no shame, to talk so?'

'I see no need for shame between us two, but if it troubles you, comb away.'

He sat up and let her comb, only protesting mildly when she tugged, a little vengefully, harder than was necessary. When she had finished he lay down again with his head in her lap, looking up at her.

'Did you know you had a spider hanging from your chin?' He caught up the tiny thing on its invisible thread and swung it from his finger. 'The poor creature was climbing up towards bliss, but alas! My jealousy has foiled him.' He flicked the spider gently away into the undergrowth. 'Nevertheless, since I have been in that bliss these many days, I am merciful and let him go, to try again another day.' He yawned.

'For a wise man you talk a great deal of nonsense, Faramir of Gondor.'

'Only to you.' He looked up at her solemnly. 'I will desist if you wish, and talk only sober sense henceforward.'

'No need for that. I love your nonsense, but don't be talking so where others can hear you, or they will think I have bewitched you and stolen your wits.'

'You have,' he said, and closed his eyes. Presently he slept; Eowyn sat on, not minding the weight of him, marvelling at his stillness. It occurred to her that never before, even in sleep, had she seen him so perfectly at rest; always before there had been a slight tension about him, as if he expected to be awakened at any moment to face some challenge that might be beyond his strength. He had had few such respites in his life. She traced the line of one black eyebrow with her finger and he smiled, but did not wake. She marvelled afresh that this man who, not so very long ago, had been a stranger to her, even one whose presence she wanted to resent, was now so much part of her that to be away from him, even for a little time, was pain.

'It can't last,' she thought suddenly. 'It will not always be like this, or we should exhaust ourselves with loving.' She remembered all the childhood stories which ended with the easy assurance of heroes and heroines who lived happily ever after, and never explained what changes and struggles and years of patient adjustment went to the making of that 'ever after', or the stings that lurked sometimes in the honey. 'And they lived together through the years, and loved and quarrelled and hurt and forgave each other and were as happy as they well could be?' That was the story grown up, the story that was never told but only lived.

The light was fading fast now and the first hint of chill in the air, but she held off the moment when she must wake him, clinging to the tiny present moment, making it perpetual. 'Whatever happens, we shall have had this. Always deep down, at the heart of things, there will be this.'

She tapped his cheek. 'Wake up, lazybones, it's time we were away.'

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